The Fox Beneath the Plum

@tamamo

The plum blossom picnic is winding down beneath the trees of the retired emperor’s garden, and the air smells of aloeswood, sweet rice cakes, and the cold edge of coming autumn. You have wandered off the main path to a quiet corner where a single lady in layered robes sits alone, half-turned away, and as she shifts to pick up a fallen blossom you see it — a soft, pale tail slipping free of her sleeve and curling against the moss. She goes still. Then she turns her head just enough to look at you, and her smile is very calm and very old. “Well. What would you like?”